The Saint-Florentin Murders (38 page)

‘The minister has a secret family: a charming young lady, and a child about a year old. It’s clearly a side of his existence he wants to preserve at all costs. Hence these nocturnal escapes and this desire to keep his double life a complete secret.’

‘What a man!’ exclaimed Bourdeau. ‘Who would believe it to look at him? The Beautiful Aglaé, countless other women, responsibilities of State, and what else?’

‘As for me,’ replied Nicolas gravely, ‘I have no idea where the truth of the man lies. In his licentiousness or in this garden of innocence preserved as it was before the Fall?’

‘Anyone listening to you would think that the more like a devil a man is, the more he aspires to get back to the Garden of Eden.’

Nicolas laughed and grimaced at the same time. ‘Don’t make me laugh, it pulls on my wound. I’ll only be able to smile for the next few days, although the circumstances hardly lend themselves
to much smiling. I’m going to get a few hours’ rest and then we’ll meet again at dawn, at the Châtelet.’

‘What are your instructions?’

‘Send some men to Rue Christine to collect the contents of the younger Duchamplan’s wardrobe and bring them to me. We’ll also have to get the body of the unfortunate Vitry identified, or at least what’s left of him. It won’t be easy, but I don’t have much doubt it’s him. I’ll go and see Lenoir and Testard du Lys. Not forgetting Sartine, if he’s in Paris. I’ll put together my case, and the day after tomorrow we’ll summon the suspect.’

‘Who for now is only charged with acts of debauchery on a minor.’

‘Not forgetting kidnapping, which, if all goes well, will earn him the whip, the brand, the iron collar and life imprisonment in a house of detention.’

‘That’s true, although I fear we can expect a lot of argument and a lot of outside interference from those trying to thwart our procedure.’

‘That’s why I think it’s vital that we expedite things as quickly as possible. Like you, I expect the worst.’

‘What about Chambonas?’

‘I fear he’s untouchable. The Lieutenant General has had proof of his secret activities for a long time now. To implicate him would be the equivalent of untangling a thread that would lead us too close to the throne.’

‘Will the time ever come when the law applies to everyone?’

‘When the Bourdeaus are in power,’ said Nicolas affectionately.

Nicolas gave his last instructions concerning the interrogation of the younger Duchamplan and, if need be, other protagonists in
the case, as well as some special instructions which he had now had time to think about. He was a little angry with himself at not opening up more to Bourdeau, but he did not like to reveal a plan of campaign which depended to a large extent on his intuition – even though there was a degree of material evidence to corroborate it. It was a kind of superstition in him to keep quiet about his intentions. A detective was like an artist: he did not like to reveal too much all at once.

In Rue Montmartre, the whole household was asleep; only Mouchette was waiting for her master. She gave some questioning little cries and disapprovingly sniffed the smell of muddy water that he gave off. He decided to remedy this, unable to imagine slipping into his bed in such a filthy state. Hot water was cooling in the kettle on the stove. He undressed, and as he did so, weariness overcame him, and all his pains revived. Catherine, wakened by the noise, found him as naked as the day he was born, trying unsuccessfully to wash himself. She gave a cry when she saw the bloodstained bandage around the middle of his body. She took matters in hand. He was washed, soaped, combed, and rubbed down, and his bandage gently but firmly changed. After sipping a schnapps eggnog flavoured with cinnamon, he went upstairs, exhausted but already feeling his old self, and slipped into his bed for a few hours’ rest.

The day was a long one. Nicolas, although feeling as tired as he had after his hurried return from England a few months earlier, nevertheless gave his utmost. He went to see Monsieur Lenoir, who approved his plan. Next, he had to confront the long pale face of the Criminal Lieutenant. Overtaken by events as usual,
Monsieur Testard du Lys at first balked at the commissioner’s plans, denouncing practices which were alien to him. Nicolas had to remind him that he had never had reason in the past to complain about initiatives which might not have conformed to the routine way of doing things but which had always led to the confounding of the guilty and to the King’s having an even higher opinion of a justice system of which the Criminal Lieutenant was the most eminent representative. Of course, Monsieur Testard du Lys did not have the wit to realise that these solved cases did not bring anyone any reflected glory, since they were all special investigations, mostly relating to the private justice of the monarch. Defeated, he washed his hands like a new Pilate and irritably dismissed Nicolas. As a final argument, the name of Sartine had been bandied about; he still filled the Criminal Lieutenant with fear.

The contents of the wardrobe in Rue Christine were carefully recorded and examined item by item. Nicolas also received Sanson. He next went to the Hôtel-Dieu, where he questioned the girl discovered in the bathing establishment. She confirmed everything they had assumed. She and her sister, starving, lost in Paris, had been picked up by Duchamplan who, under false pretences, had taken them to an unknown house, and then delivered them, in a number of different places, to the lust of his accomplices.

Nicolas then had himself driven to Quai des Tournelles, where the spies who were protecting him from a distance, on Bourdeau’s orders, saw him indulging in some strange exercises, with his nose to the ground. A final meeting at the Châtelet reunited him with the inspector. It was followed by an inspection of the hall
of the Basse-Geôle, which had been laid out for the following day’s secret hearing. Finally, he signed a safe conduct for La Roussillon, whose help and cool head had been vital to the success of the operation.

Again, he went to bed quite late. Catherine had waited up for him, concocting one of her special dishes for him. It consisted of steaming cabbage cut into slices and those roots she stubbornly cultivated in the kitchen garden behind the house, much to the despair of Poitevin: those potatoes which people were starting to talk about at Court and in the city. She would roughly crush the two vegetables, making sure that the flesh of the cabbage remained somewhat crunchy. She would then throw the mixture into a cast-iron dish in which some diced smoked bacon had been cooked in salt, pepper, nutmeg, garlic and juniper berries. You had to make sure to keep turning it all over with a spoon, so that everything benefited from the heat, until it had turned a nice golden colour. This dish revealed to him how sweet the new root could be when treated in this way, set off as it was by the crunchiness of the cabbage and the softness of the bacon, the whole thing covered in a grated cheese crust during the baking. This robust snack, washed down with a bottle of Burgundy from Irancy, which Noblecourt always called the great King’s wine, led him to a peaceful, restorative sleep.

Everything had been meticulously prepared. In a hall close to the Basse-Geôle, a kind of courtroom had been installed: a long table and two armchairs with flaps, one for Nicolas and one for Bourdeau, who would keep a record of the hearing. The various items of evidence lay on the lid of a chest in the centre of the room, in front of the defendant’s seat. Opposite the long table, two trestles supported a half-open coffin, revealing the bloodless, livid face of the corpse found on Île des Cygnes. Two candlesticks framed it. Always thoughtful, Old Marie had seen fit to install a kind of brazier on which incense burnt. Torches fixed into rings on the wall threw their dancing light over the scene.

The Lieutenant General of Police and the Criminal Lieutenant entered in magistrates’ gowns and sat down, after throwing alarmed glances at the coffin. Nicolas walked towards them and began to speak.

‘Gentlemen, we are gathered here today in a hall of the Grand
Châtelet, in an extraordinary and secret commission, to try to bring to an end a case which has cost the lives of four people. I shall attempt to untie the threads of a mystery which inextricably combines the passions of human perversity and the deleterious actions of agents of a foreign power …’

‘Allow me to express surprise,’ exclaimed Monsieur Testard du Lys, ‘at the unfortunate revival of such an outrageous procedure of common law! I had dared to hope that under a new reign, which has already led to certain changes, we might have avoided recourse to such regrettable arrangements.’

‘It is by order of the King, on my instructions and with my support,’ said Lenoir, ‘that Commissioner Le Floch has been forced, given the circumstances, to adopt such unconventional measures.’

‘But did he have to subject us to such an unfortunate confrontation?’ muttered the Criminal Lieutenant, lifting a fine cambric handkerchief to his nostrils.

Nicolas pretended to ignore this exchange. ‘Allow me, gentlemen,’ he went on, ‘to remind you of the circumstances under which I was assigned this investigation. The Duc de La Vrillière, Minister of the King’s Household, summoned me, through the intermediary of Monsieur Lenoir, to his mansion near Place Louis XV, to inform me that Marguerite Pindron, the duchesse’s chambermaid, had been discovered early that morning in the kitchens with her throat cut. Near her body, the
major-domo
, Jean Missery, had been found unconscious and wounded. My first observations turned up a number of clues. There was no weapon matching the victim’s terrible wound. The major-domo’s wound was of quite another nature. Everything led one to suppose
that, after having murdered his young mistress, and struck with the horror of his action, he had tried to take his own life. The kitchen knife found near him appeared derisory in comparison with the victim’s horrible wound. The cellar floor had been much trodden over. A trail of bloody footprints led me to the second floor and onto a balcony overlooking the gate of the mansion. Clearly someone had escaped by that route. In the kitchen, I found some silver thread and observed that Marguerite Pindron’s slippers resembled, in their luxury, those worn at balls. The first testimonies revealed panic and a certain amount of confusion as to how exactly things had happened. Some said it was pitch dark when the bodies were discovered, others that the day had already risen. One thing that surprised me was that everyone was keen to tell me how bad their relations with the major-domo were. Some admitted that they had not been indifferent to Marguerite Pindron.’

‘But this major-domo wasn’t dead, was he?’ the Criminal Lieutenant cut in. ‘Did you question him?’

‘He couldn’t remember anything, only that he had fallen asleep. In addition, his wound was a light one, hardly a scratch, which didn’t exactly explain the amount of blood there was around him.’

‘How do you know,’ said Lenoir, ‘that this blood did not come from the body of the young woman?’

‘The two pools of blood were quite distinct in nature. For the rest, I found, as is common in a great house, the usual conflicts among the domestic staff.’

‘But surely this was a simple affair,’ said Testard du Lys. ‘You had a culprit, in the person of the major-domo. The nature of his
wound was of little importance. Why go searching all over the city?’

‘Alas, Monseigneur, the reality is much more complex, and a number of discoveries led me to rule out such a simple solution. Inspector Bourdeau was invited by Jacques Blain, the caretaker of the mansion, to try some rabbit stew.’

The Criminal Lieutenant sat up in his chair, very red in the face. ‘Here again is one of these whims so frequent in Monsieur Le Floch’s repertoire. What are you trying to prove now?’

‘I’m simply trying to point out, Monseigneur, that you can’t make a good stew without mixing some of the animal’s blood in with the sauce, along with a trickle of vinegar.’

‘What of it? I don’t follow you at all.’

‘What of it? That sauce didn’t have any blood. Is it normal for someone to go and get three rabbits from their hutch in the middle of the night, kill them and cook them? This caretaker fellow seems not only to suffer from insomnia, but also to have a formidable appetite!’

‘And what do you conclude from that?’ asked Lenoir.

‘Let me tell you a story. Poor Marguerite Pindron, about whom I made enquiries in Faubourg Saint-Antoine, left her family after breaking off her engagement with young Vitry, a gardener, and wandered the streets of Paris for a long time. I don’t know how, but somehow she ended up as a chambermaid to the Duchesse de La Vrillière. Who introduced her into that noble house? Thanks to my investigation, I can state that it was Eudes Duchamplan, the brother-in-law of the major-domo, Jean Missery. The latter, a widower, believes it’s his right to press his attentions on the female staff of the house. He falls madly in love
with Marguerite. Why would he have wanted to kill her? Did he suspect the relationship between Marguerite and Eudes? Was he angered by the other male servants’ interest in her? I don’t believe any of that. Marguerite Pindron was killed by someone from outside the house. The autopsy performed on the victim allowed us to determine the nature of the murder weapon. A cast was made from the wound. Its shape was that of a hand, and was an attempt to implicate the Duc de La Vrillière who, after a hunting accident, was given an artificial silver hand by the late King.’

‘Another tall tale!’

Nicolas ignored this interruption from the Criminal Lieutenant. ‘The fact is,’ he continued, ‘Marguerite Pindron had to die. Many reasons can be adduced. She may have witnessed something she should not have seen and been blackmailing the person or persons involved, or she may have constituted a financial threat to the Duchamplan family if Jean Missery had taken her as his second wife. Eudes Duchamplan has, I believe, access to the
Saint-Florentin
mansion. He also has in his possession the Duc de La Vrillière’s silver hand, no doubt stolen. That Sunday, he gets into the house. He’s made an appointment with Marguerite, who is to be in the kitchens to meet her older suitor.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked the Criminal Lieutenant.

‘The testimony of Jeanne Le Bas, known as Jeannette, another chambermaid, who saw the note in question, anonymous and written in large letters. Marguerite was sure it came from Jean Missery. She therefore makes her way to the kitchens. There, her throat is cut.’

‘But if the intention was to implicate the Duc de La Vrillière,’ objected Lenoir, ‘why wasn’t the murder weapon left at the scene?’

‘It couldn’t be left at the scene. If the duc is guilty, can one imagine him incriminating himself by leaving his silver hand in such a conspicuous position? What is done is much more subtle. If the murder weapon disappears, it is because it has to reappear. However, other clues have to be left which implicate the master of the house. So it is that I find a silver thread which can reasonably be supposed to have come from the minister’s coat, being in conformity with the end of the period of mourning. But something else will complicate this fiendish plan: the actions of a jealous woman.’

‘We seem to be in a novel by Crébillon!’

‘The truth is always stranger than fiction, Monseigneur,’ said Nicolas with a smile. ‘Eugénie Gouet, the head chambermaid, used to be the major-domo’s mistress, and seems to have nurtured the hope that she would one day marry him. The awareness that she is getting older and has been abandoned sharpens the resentment she feels towards her younger rival. The conversation between Marguerite and Jeannette about that evening’s
rendezvous
is overheard by this angry woman. It gives her the means to take her revenge. Oh, we’re not talking about a crime, but about a very wicked act. She takes the duchesse’s sleeping draught – she will claim later that the bottle was broken – and drugs her former lover with it.’

‘But how?’ asked Lenoir. ‘That’s not so easy to do. There needs to be a pretext.’

‘Which she finds, Monseigneur. Eugénie Gouet knows all about Missery. She knows that, although his desire is insatiable, he’s sometimes unable to perform. Having pretended to remain his friend, she advises him on this matter and persuades him
to take this potion in place of the usual aphrodisiacs that he uses – we found pastilles of cantharides in his room. As a result, he sinks into a deep sleep. Eugénie obviously wants to savour Marguerite’s disappointment, or at least to scold her for being there at such an uncommon hour. As she gets to the kitchens through the service passage, she sees a man in a grey coat running away along the corridor to the staircase leading to the upper floors. Taken by surprise, she’s convinced it was Monsieur de La Vrillière she saw. She carries on to the roasting room, hears no noise, lights a candle, and discovers Marguerite lying there with her throat cut.’

‘Let’s stop for a moment,’ said Monsieur Lenoir. ‘If this unknown killer was able to get into the house, why did he have to escape through the upper floors?’

Nicolas approached the long table and handed the two magistrates some documents. ‘These are the plans, cross-sections and elevations of the Saint-Florentin mansion, as drawn up by its architect, Monsieur Chalgrin. You will observe on the plan of the ground floor that the staircase is the only exit for someone who’s trying to leave the kitchens and can’t take the service passage leading to the courtyard. To Eugénie Gouet, there’s no doubt. She’s been serving the Saint-Florentin family since she was very young, and is totally devoted to it. No one is either black or white, people are mixed. The best and the worst cohabit. What’s going on in her mind? We can try to imagine. She believes she has to do everything she can to save her master – we can’t rule out the possibility that she may once have been his mistress. She probably waits for a while, until she’s sure the duc has managed to get out of the house, then runs to tell the Duchesse de La Vrillière. The
duchesse immediately takes matters in hand. Something will have to be done. They confer. Eugénie Gouet admits her plot against Jean Missery. The fact that he’s still unconscious constitutes their last hope. They decide to take him down into the kitchens. But the man is too heavy for the two women, and they’re forced to tell some of the other servants. They give him a superficial cut and, to make it more convincing, they spread the blood of three freshly killed rabbits all around his body. The duc returns early in the morning; it’s impossible to be sure of the exact time as the testimonies are so confused. He finds the house in a state of agitation, but no one dares tell him about the events of the night. The duchesse visits Jean Missery’s sister-in-law, Sister Louise of the Annunciation, and opens her heart to her.’

‘Didn’t it take you a long time to rule out the possibility that the duc might be guilty?’

‘With good reason! He claimed to have returned from Versailles. But we gradually discovered that he was in Paris and in fact, for the three murders that followed, it was quite impossible to verify his alibis. Questioned by me after I had noticed that he wore a wooden replica of his hand under his glove, he was unable to indicate to me where the original was, or if it had been stolen or lost.’

‘And the supposed murderer?’ asked the Criminal Lieutenant in a more affable tone. ‘How did he escape? Had he remained in the house?’

‘I just had to follow the bloody footprints which I mentioned at the beginning of my presentation. He escaped through the gate, from the first-floor balcony. It should be mentioned, incidentally, that this was a difficult thing to do, only possible for
an agile young man, since it involved descending a stone column to reach a side gate.’

‘One last point,’ said Testard du Lys. ‘Why did the
major-domo
only have a slight wound? If one wanted to pin the blame on him, killing him would have been more appropriate.’

‘Monseigneur, think of the horror of that terrible night, of those two distraught women, who are trying to find a way to exonerate the duc. They make the decision together. They won’t go any further than a small cut. They are not criminals.’

Monsieur Lenoir raised his hand. ‘At the point we have reached in your account, Commissioner, the motives and consequences you describe seem plausible. The fact remains that this whole edifice rests on nothing but your discursive intelligence and your intuition, not to mention your imagination. Of course, there are many clues, and they seem to corroborate your theories, but we need evidence, some confirmation so obvious that it will convince us that the presumed killer, Eudes Duchamplan, not only committed the murder in the Saint-Florentin mansion but also the other three murders. For the next two, that of the prostitute whose body was found beside the river, and that of the young fugitive from Brussels, the killer’s methods were identical. One may therefore presume that we are dealing with the same perpetrator. For the fourth, that of Anselme Vitry, a firearm was used. Commissioner, we are listening.’