by Pirate Irwin
Levau had yet to give his opinion, he had joined them having finished his combing of the cell, but Lafarge had little doubt he would have come to the same conclusion. The trio stood there while the forensics expert began his assessment and was joined by a couple of white-uniformed men, who were carrying a stretcher.
Another rather stiff looking silver-haired man, wearing a pale grey suit which had not been pressed for quite some time thought Lafarge, also appeared.
However, that was not what caught Lafarge’s attention for behind the grey-suited man were two men, Laval and Jean-Herold Paquis, whose propaganda and hate-filled diatribes against the Allies on Radio Paris had always signed off with ‘England like Carthage will be destroyed!’ They both looked sorry sights, not least because their legs were chained by the ankles which restricted them to shuffling along the corridor.
Lafarge and Levau both looked at each other as shocked as each other to see how low Laval had fallen, the man who had bathed in the sunlight of Nazi favour and been feted by them for his efforts in solving the ‘Jewish Question’ in France but now looking shattered and humiliated.
His once smart appearance, chic double-breasted pin stripe suits adorned normally with a fresh flower in his buttonhole, had been replaced by a non-descript collarless grey shirt. Lafarge remarked to himself the manner in which Laval could barely move he was sorely in need of the gold-topped cane which had been his trademark when he went out in public.
Both he and Levau looked to Lavroux for an explanation but the guard simply shrugged and said from now on their questions were best addressed to the silver-haired man, who was the Governor of the prison, Jean Valentin.
Valentin, who appeared flustered and even in the cold of the prison was sweating, apologised for his not having been present when they arrived but he had had to go through some paperwork with Laval and Pacquis. He didn’t explain any further, and they had to step into the entrance of Pierre Lafarge’s cell to allow the prisoners past with their escort.
Pacquis, whose blond hair was swept back, tried to look defiant but his tear-stained cheeks betrayed his real sentiments, and Laval stared into Lafarge’s face as he passed, but his eyes were bleary, his shoulders sagged. He was a thoroughly dejected and broken man.
Once they had gone beyond hearing distance Valentin explained that all those who were condemned to death were obliged to wear chains and be dressed in white trousers with buttons up the side.
Lafarge thought this was absurd and for a brief second was relieved he hadn’t seen his father reduced to such a state. At the same time he had no sympathy for Laval nor Pacquis, although the latter appeared to be paying a high price for rantings on a radio station that a lot of people had turned off when they heard he was about to broadcast. Also was he responsible for the rounding up of the Jews?
But then Lafarge had to remind himself that crime had not been at the forefront of the charge sheets against any of the collaborators. No. Astonishingly for De Gaulle the murder of thousands of children and adults did not compare in importance with the charge of treason.
Valentin suggested they go to his office and Lafarge and Levau accepted readily. There was nothing more to be gained by staying around the cell and the Chief Inspector was keen to avoid seeing the spectacle of his father being lifted onto the stretcher and carried away.
Valentin’s office was a large room, naturally well-light with windows opening out high above the main courtyard, and remarkably comfortably furnished for a prison administrator observed Lafarge.
There were two brown leather sofas, facing each other, to the side of the entrance. A Persian rug covered the rather threadbare blue carpet that separated the sofas from Valentin’s desk. He invited them to sit in two comfortable looking leather, also brown, armchairs facing his desk, while he took his seat in an expensive looking art deco wooden chair.
“Ah I see your inquisitive minds are wondering about the furniture, let us say a generous parting gift from our German guests. As you can tell they left in rather a hurry!” said Valentin with a wry smile.
Valentin called in his secretary, an attractive blonde-haired woman. She was about Levau’s age ventured Lafarge, around 30, and asked her for three coffees.
The air was thick with smoke which was probably down to Laval’s prodigious smoking habit, something, unlike power, he hadn’t lost thought Lafarge. He pulled out a crumpled packet, offered Valentin one, which he declined, and lit one for himself.
“I’m very sorry for your loss Chief Inspector. Both on a personal and a professional level your father’s death is a blow to me,” said Valentin.
“He was a gentleman and the epitome of a model prisoner, not like the majority of the Vichyites and collaborators we have here,” added Valentin almost spitting out the last few words.
“In fact we sometimes chatted in here, about books and played chess from time to time. He won every time!” said Valentin, a smile coming easily to his lips.
Lafarge was moved by Valentin’s words, which seemed genuine enough.
“You may wonder whether I am just paying lip service with the traditional make you feel good words, but I am not. I certainly wouldn’t if it had been either of the two men you just saw, or many of the others for that matter.
“No, even among over 2000 prisoners one can see some that stand out, even career criminals or murderers but who adapt to prison life and actually help the system to function by their actions. In fact some of those men are helping guard the prisoners now because of the shortages of manpower we have,” said Valentin.
That pricked up Lafarge’s ears. Criminals helping the guards could create the perfect storm for Bousquet or Laval to hire someone to murder his father.
“A positive form of collaboration then?” asked Levau, the dryness of the remark amusing Lafarge.
It wasn’t lost on Valentin either, who didn’t appreciate the implication.
“I can assure you Inspector that the men we deploy as auxiliaries are reliable, and also perform menial duties such as doling out the food to the cells. They are largely supervised and are not let out until breakfast has been served,” Valentin said testily.
“We are under extreme pressure as you can see, not that we are any different to the other state services like the hospitals or police. Unlike the Nazis we can’t cure our over-crowding and lack of staff problems by simply shooting several hundred or deporting them! No we have to look after them as best we can till they are judged and then some stay with us and others end up at Chatillon,” he added.
Levau looked suitably chastened, although he had been fully entitled to ask the question. Lafarge, though, was impressed by Valentin, he had much more to him than the normal grey man within the grey suit pushing paper clips and papers round his desk, which a lot of the prison governors he had encountered in his time were like. He would ask around about him.
“So can you explain why Colonel Lafarge’s cell door was unlocked, contrary to the others?” asked Levau trying to regain the initiative.
“No, I can’t,” replied Valentin curtly.
“Well who were the guards assigned to that wing? Have you asked them if one of them can?” asked Levau, not content to allow the governor to get away with such a weak response.
“I am afraid I haven’t had the time yet, but perhaps you would wish to instead? You are after all better versed in the art of detection of lies,” replied Valentin smoothly.
Levau didn’t appreciate that response either, Lafarge applauded the governor for turning an awkward question into a cutting reply on his part, although he didn’t enjoy the discomfit his partner was having in conducting the interview.
“Well I’m sure you will appreciate that the Chief Inspector has to go to the morgue, and we have but the one car,” said Levau.
Lafarge wasn’t in the mood to put up with an argument over who should ask the guards the questions, for him it was clearly Levau’s responsibility so he interjected and said he could wait.
“Anyway why are
you so keen to learn what the guards know? It may have been just an oversight on their part. Whatever the reason it doesn’t alter the fact that sadly the colonel took his own life,” said Valentin.
“Aha but you are wrong. The colonel was murdered. He had his neck broken before his wrists were slit. It would take even the greatest chess player to come up with a move of such audacity to pull that one off if it were suicide,” said Levau, a note of triumph creeping into his voice at at last getting the upper hand on Valentin.
The Governor swallowed nervously and looked shocked.
“My God,” he said.
“Yes indeed My God sir, so now you can understand why it is imperative the guards are questioned about their movements,” said Levau.
Valentin for the first time looked rattled and flicked the intercom switch to speak to his secretary, Lafarge wouldn’t mind another appearance by her to illuminate a very gloomy morning, and asked her to summon the chief officer of the day watch.
“I’m afraid we could have a problem with regard to the guards,” said Valentin, his voice devoid of its previous authority.
“The two shifts change at breakfast time, which means whoever opened the colonel’s door was on the night shift, as it was Lavroux who discovered the body and he was going to give him his breakfast. The Chief Officer will know if any of them are still here, some of them occasionally prefer to sleep in some rooms kept for them than go home.”
Lafarge hoped an over-confident killer had thought the best hiding place was by staying close to the scene of the crime, plus perhaps he didn’t think the police would investigate it thoroughly initially, buying him some time until the autopsy. By that time if the people behind the murder had paid him he could make good his escape. These days it was easy to slip away and give yourself a new identity such was still the movement of refugees, prisoners from the camps, civilian and soldiers.
Lafarge, who had taken a discreet nip of cognac, doubted the murderer was still on the premises. No, he had probably finished his shift and gone into Paris and picked up the money. He was more than likely on a train to his new life, away from the misery of being a prison guard looking after some appalling criminals, who gave you nothing but bother and abuse from the first minute of the shift to the last.
He could almost sympathise with the perpetrator’s reasons for committing the crime had the victim been anyone else but his father.
They waited for the Chief Officer to turn up but in the end he served little purpose as he said all the guards had left. Levau asked Valentin to get his secretary to compile a list of addresses for the guards on the night shift, which he promptly did.
Lafarge, who had for once obeyed his instructions implicitly although he regretted he hadn’t been able to help out Levau in his verbal sparring with Valentin, had one question he needed to ask the Chief Officer. He knew his partner wouldn’t ask it as he didn’t know about the deal.
“Which of officers Fayette and Vandamme were here on duty last night?” he asked.
The Chief Officer flicked through the list of the guards, running his finger down the third page.
“Vandamme was on the shift last night. He had to fill in for Fayette,” replied the officer.
Lafarge got a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn’t from the cognac.
“Where was Fayette, was he sick?” he asked.
The Chief Officer, a broad-girthed man of about 50 with slicked back salt and pepper hair and like the late Neveu had a Croix de Guerre attached to his lapel, leafed over a page and looked confused.
“It appears Fayette hasn’t been at work the past couple of days. Vandamme stepped in voluntarily for his night shifts, which was pretty good of him as they aren’t very popular as you can imagine,” he said.
Lafarge trusted his instinct and his was telling him that it was too much of a coincidence that Fayette had been ill and Vandamme had stepped in. He had the feeling he and his family had been double-crossed, and they had colluded in murdering his father. He prayed that his instinct about the murderers doing a runner was proved wrong because otherwise finding the paymasters would be all but impossible.
Chapter Nine
“Kick the door in!” Lafarge said to Levau after Fayette had failed to come to the door despite them hammering on it three times.
Levau, who had received a full explanation from Lafarge as to why they had abruptly left Valentin’s office and were now chasing down two guards instead of following the body of Colonel Lafarge back to the morgue, shook his head.
Lafarge, who was just about getting his breath back having run up five flights of stairs in the dingy block of flats in the suburb of Aubervilliers that Fayette listed as his address, shot a furious glance at his partner.
“With the greatest respect Chief Inspector we have come here based on a hunch of yours that you and your family have been double-crossed and this man may be responsible for the murder of your father,” said Levau standing his ground.
“The man may have gone out to get medication, or he may sleep at the back of his apartment and have taken a sleeping draught and be dead to the world. I don’t think I can justify myself breaking down his door on your instinct. Plus as you are here as an observer it will be me who answers to Pinault should the man wish to make a complaint.
“What I suggest is that we abort our visit here, I will post a man outside, and we go to Vandamme’s apartment. Is that alright with you?” he asked.
Lafarge scowled and puffed out his cheeks but admitted defeat. However, he only conceded that they wouldn’t be breaking down Fayette’s door, which he thought was a big mistake as what they found would yield leads or a paper trail perhaps, but he would interrogate the neighbours.
That surely would be alright with Levau.
To his relief it was. Levau went to the right hand neighbour and Lafarge to the one to the left, so they would not waste time by doubling up. The quicker they were out of there and on their way to Vandamme’s flat, which was a distance away in Belleville, not far from where Lafarge lived in Pere Lachaise, the better.
Their enquiries yielded little, both the neighbours said they saw little of him due to the night shifts he did, as he would be coming back when they went out. They said he was a pleasant enough old man who didn’t appear to have any family and rarely did they see him having people round. Of course they couldn’t vouch for the day time when they and their wives were out working. In any case they hadn’t had him as a neighbour for very long, for he had only moved in three months ago.
That made sense looking at his employment record as he had been hired in July. Apart from his being taken on at Fresnes there was scant information on his whereabouts prior to that. The only other information to be gleaned from his employment form was he was much younger than he looked, 47- years-old, but again there was no mention of a wife or next of kin.
Vandamme thankfully for Lafarge’s lungs lived on the third floor of a pretty non-descript late 19th century apartment building in the largely blue collar neighbourhood of Belleville. Pere Lachaise which bordered Belleville was one rung up on the social scale as reflected by several of the buildings having concierges.
This had not been to the advantage of the Jewish families, many had been denounced by the very people who were employed to keep an eye out and discourage non-residents intruding. The generous presents and money given to these same concierges every Christmas meant nothing when it came to the round-up. The concierges who were called to account for their betrayal remained largely unrepentant, shrugging their shoulders and as if brainwashed saying the Jews were enemies of the state and had thought they could buy them off.
Looking at the names on Vandamme’s block it looked as if many new residents had moved in, and despite efforts to scratch out their predecessors names they could discern some of them. There must have been at least 20 of the 50 families – it was a large building built round a courtyard – who had ‘moved on’, for all of them had Jewish foreign-looking names.
/> Levau and Lafarge moved through the courtyard, slightly hindered by the laundry hanging out to dry, which was an optimistic effort by the inhabitants given the cold temperatures. They too as it turned out had been equally optimistic in thinking Vandamme might be at home. No-one came to the door - – again there was no one listed as a spouse or children on his sheet – and once again Levau baulked at breaking the door down.
Lafarge, who deeply regretted their situations weren’t reversed even if it wasn’t the most charitable of reflections, did at least convince him that if either of the neighbours gave them reason to suspect something suspicious had occurred in his apartment then they would have cause to force their way into it.
One of the neighbours wasn’t home, it was midday by now and he or she must have been at work, they had been fortunate Fayette’s had both been on days off. However, Vandamme’s other neighbour, an elderly woman called Muriel Meunville, invited them in once they told her what their business was about.
She led them down a short and narrow corridor to her small but tidy sitting room, which was sparsely furnished. However, the two soft armchairs and the sofa as well as the chestnut desk and the oak table were, Lafarge observed, of good quality. Meunville too was well-presented, her grey hair brushed and done up in a bun at the back of her head and her clothes – a cream silk shirt, a blue pair of trousers and a blue cashmere cardigan, were not bought recently but had been stylish or in vogue in the late 30’s. She offered them a coffee, which they declined, the general standard of the dark stuff was pretty poor even over a year after the Liberation, and then to their surprise proferred a fine bottle of Napoleon cognac, explaining her late husband had kept an excellent cellar and she had been able to retain several of the best bottles when she had moved.
Lafarge especially was hugely appreciative of her gesture, her explanation also accounted for the quality of the furniture. Like quite a lot of Parisians she was making the most of a loss of a loved one and of status as a result. Now was not the time to ask about the circumstances surrounding her late husband’s demise and was that the reason she had been obliged to move.