by Pirate Irwin
“So Madame did you have much to do with your neighbour, Monsieur Vandamme?” Levau asked after they had settled down, both he and Lafarge with a large glass of cognac.
“I heard everything,” she said, a knowing look on her face which while it was wizened with age still bore signs of someone who must have been beautiful in her youth.
She rose and went over to the connecting wall and tapped on it with her frail hands. It gave off a hollow sound which suggested the two apartments had once been all in one, but had been split in two and the builders hadn’t bothered with thinking about privacy just making the most money out of the cheapest material.
“I’m not suggesting I am a habitual eavesdropper,” she said as she resumed her seat.
“It was only when I heard raised voices that I paid much attention. Fortunately I kept the radio my husband and I owned so I spend a lot of time listening to that, or reading,” she added, although Lafarge felt she was making too much of an effort to convince them she wasn’t a lonely nosy busybody.
“It’s not a crime listening to other people Madame,” said Lafarge, in an effort to put her at ease.
“It would only be a crime if you tried to use that to your advantage and you don’t strike me as a natural blackmailer. Of course the Occupation was a rich source for such people, where they were in a win win situation for if the victim didn’t pay then they had the option of denouncing them.
“Now at least such people get punished,” he added settling his eyes on hers to see if she flinched or looked nervously away.
She did neither which was a reassuring sign to Lafarge, she was either possessed of nerves of steel or a woman of her word. He gestured to Levau to proceed with his questions, explaining why it was so to Madame Meunville who looked surprised the senior ranking officer wasn’t interrogating her.
“So Madame did you know your neighbour well?” asked Levau.
“Well he hadn’t been living here long, like a lot of us. He moved in, hmm, a month ago I think. He was always extremely courteous, carried my shopping up for me from time to time. Though these days it is not that one can buy many things, or afford them if you have to pay more,” she said.
“However, he kept himself to himself, didn’t offer up much information about himself even when he accepted an invitation to come and have a drink one evening. I wouldn’t say he was taciturn just reserved, about himself that is. On other topics he was more engaged.
“One thing that struck me from our conversation that evening was he was extremely well-read and the way he spoke, his use of language, not one you would associate with a prison officer. It made me wonder what he was doing taking such a job. But then as I referred to earlier things are tough and even for well-educated young people they have to earn something to just get by.”
Vandamme may not have revealed much about his past to Madame Meunville but to Lafarge her observations had been very informative, and only heightened his suspicions about his involvement in murdering his father. Yes everyone needed a job these days, no matter how below their status it might be, to survive.
However, it was curious a well-read young man would select the prison service, even if they were heavily under-staffed and getting a job was easy. For if he was as well-educated as Madame Meunville suspected, and she being so herself should know, there were plenty of other professions, more suited to his intellect, willing to take on young people.
“So he didn’t talk about himself at all Madame Meunville?” asked Levau.
“No, he didn’t really. The only thing he said regarding his origins was that he came from Lyon.”
Levau looked at his notes, then at Lafarge, and stood up as if to go.
Madame Meunville looked mildly surprised.
“But I haven’t finished yet,” she said, not in a pleading manner as if she wanted the company but in an earnest fashion that she really did have more to tell.
Lafarge indicated to Levau to sit back down, which was excellent news as they could avail of another glass of the exceptional cognac.
“So, it wasn’t what he said here that is important Madame?” asked Levau.
“Good lord no inspector! It is what I overheard next door that is maybe of importance to you and your boss here,” she said excitedly, delighted too to be the centre of attention.
“He had a couple of visitors one night, one elderly looking and dressed in a uniform, it was dusk and I saw him from below in the courtyard so I didn’t catch a clear view of what service he belonged to.
“The other man I didn’t see but he had a pleasant voice and sounded youngish. Anyway I was pleased for the young man Vandamme to be having some company, for he spent most of his leisure time as far as I could tell on his own in the flat.
“Anyway at some point whatever the topic it was they were discussing got very heated and the young sounding one started shouting. It was then I regret to say my inquisitiveness got the better of me, and also a certain sense of protectiveness towards Vandamme propelled me to stand by the wall.
“Well, it turned out the two younger men had been comrades. No, not in the communist sense but they had fought together. The one I didn’t know was yelling at Vandamme that he owed him his life and therefore he could not pull out.
“I heard Vandamme, although it wasn’t as clear as he kept his voice relatively low, well he knew the walls were wafer thin, respond that he had enough blood on his hands and he was finished with it.
“The elderly man interceded. I’m assuming it was him as his voice sounded shakier and definitely more mature than the other two. He pleaded with Vandamme to go ahead with their plan because he was penniless and needed the money to return to his family in Marseille. Vandamme sneered at him and said if he hadn’t drunk his way through The Occupation he would be rich as Croesus.
“Whatever he meant by that I do not know, and there was no further reference, as the old man changed subject and harped on about his wife and three children he would have to care for.”
For Lafarge that pretty much settled the question of who had murdered his father, he would get in touch with the Marseille police and ask them to track down Fayette’s address and to keep an eye on it so they could arrest him as soon as he returned. He was itching to leave and get to the morgue for the autopsy and then back to the Quai where he could skim through files on wanted men from the days of the Occupation, for he was pretty sure one of the two if not both had been on the wrong side.
Why else would Vandamme have been so reticent with Madame Meunville. He would look for Fayette’s mug shot too but he suspected his file if there was one would be in the Marseille police headquarters. There was not much need to remain at Madame Meunville’s apartment now, for whatever Vandamme’s reservations he had obviously been persuaded to go ahead with the murder.
He tried to prompt Levau to leave, but his young sidekick begged to differ and asked Madame Meunville if she had heard anything more of the conversation. Lafarge conceded that he was right to do so.
“Well the youngish sounding one threatened Vandamme saying he was acting for important people, some of whom were prisoners in Fresnes, and if he didn’t honour his promise there would be severe consequences for him. Vandamme retorted that how could these people be important anymore when they were behind bars, without any authority, and some of them would be dead soon enough. The other man laughed and said these types of people would settle their accounts before they met with the firing squad, or failing that they would ensure their lieutenants dealt with the problem.
“It all went quiet then, or at least whatever they said was unintelligible. I’ve no idea when they left and didn’t have another chance to look at his visitors.”
“When was this meeting Madame?” asked Levau.
“Let me see, I’m not very good at keeping count of the days, age you know! I would say roughly a fortnight ago,” she replied, although she didn’t sound sure.
“Your subsequent sightings of Vandamme, did he seem different to you?” asked
Levau.
Madame Meunville laughed and waved her hand dismissively at Levau.
“What do you mean did he all of a sudden tell me his life story and become an extrovert?” she said her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lafarge smiled, hiding it behind his glass, for Levau had laid himself open to such a response.
“No Madame but did he look nervous, was he less friendly towards you? Did you get a sense he suspected you might have overheard the conversation?” asked Levau, not displaying any signs of being flustered by his being ridiculed.
She reflected for a moment started to shake her head before changing her mind.
“Yes perhaps there was one thing. The next day he apologized for the noise and hoped I hadn’t been disturbed and that the phrase ‘even walls have ears’ wasn’t true in this case,” she said.
That sounded like a subtle threat to Lafarge, although it didn’t appear Madame Meunville had taken it as such.
“Very well Madame Meunville, if you recall anything else contact me or the Chief Inspector. You can reach us through the gendarme we are going to leave here in case Vandamme returns,” said Levau.
“Now I don’t want you to be frightened. However, I would caution you against opening your door to anyone you don’t know. It is unlikely that will happen given there is a gendarme, but best to be forewarned,” added Levau with a suitable tone of assurance.
Lafarge nodded in agreement, although he did not feel that she was safe at all and he was sure Levau felt the same way.
They took their leave of Madame Meunville, Lafarge looked longingly at Vandamme’s door but Levau urged him to show restraint and he reluctantly stepped back.
“He is a murderer Levau so we have every right to enter his flat,” said Lafarge, trying to keep his emotions in check.
Levau shook his head.
“Look we don’t know that for certain sir. All we have is the testimony of an old lady who heard only a part of a conversation, which certainly had a sinister tone to it, but it could have been about another prisoner or it could have been to do with a prison officer. It could even have been about Valentin for all we know,” said Levau.
“Trust me Levau it is too strong a coincidence. The conversation, the murder and now the two protagonists have scattered to the wind. I’d bet you that if we entered his flat we would find incontrovertible proof,” said Lafarge without much conviction for he had absolutely no idea what lay behind the door and also he knew that for the moment he would have to be disciplined despite it being against his natural character.
However, he realised if he were to remain close to Levau, act like his shadow and advisor, he had to behave responsibly initially otherwise Pinault would pull him off the case and assign him to some dull chore like desk duties.
“Right but in order to ensure we don’t lose our only so far worthwhile source I’m leaving you here Levau and I’ll take care of the morgue visit,” said Lafarge gaining some satisfaction of at last being able to pull his rank.
Levau didn’t look best pleased, which suited Lafarge fine because he didn’t want his junior partner beginning to relish the role of the lead detective. That simply wasn’t going to happen.
“Don’t worry Levau you can come and join me once the gendarme gets here. I may even send two, as it would be good to have one downstairs and one up here,” said Lafarge.
“Oh and by the way Levau when you get back to the Quai I want you to contact Marseille and enquire about Fayette and his family. See if they are known to the police down there. You didn’t come across someone with that name when you were there did you?” asked Lafarge.
Levau shook his head vigorously and said no, he would have said something had the name meant anything. Lafarge nodded and turned on his heel, concerned he had not liked the look in Levau’s eyes when he had responded. Lafarge knew when someone was lying, principally because he was very good at telling lies himself, and Levau was not telling the truth.
***
“So Frederic let’s get down to business shall we? You know I like spending time in your company but away from the morgue, so the quicker the better if you don’t mind. I’ve spent hours elsewhere when this could have been normally dealt with immediately, and I have to go and see my son before visiting hours are finished,” said Lafarge, sounding more businesslike than someone who was there to attend his father’s autopsy.
It was largely true too as Lafarge liked the elderly pathologist Frederic Durand and they had in the past caroused into the early hours.
Durand, who had wispy grey hair a lined face but lively eyes, looked at Lafarge sympathetically but decided to skip the condolences as the intended recipient was more than likely to brush them aside, just as his opening remarks had been so impersonal with regard to the man who lay on the slab in front of them.
“Look Gaston you don’t have to be present for the autopsy. You know the form, as a relative all you have to do is identify the body and we can leave it at that,” said Durand gently.
Lafarge nodded and said he appreciated his sensitivity but he preferred to be there, besides Levau could be ages and they needed at least to have the formal declaration that it was indeed murder. In any case he would have to read the file at some point.
Durand smiled and said alright, proceeding with the autopsy and trying to make idle conversation at the same time.
“You told the rest of the family?” asked Durand.
Lafarge blew out smoke rings as he surveyed the slicing up of his father.
“No, I haven’t had the chance. Still shouldn’t take long there are fewer and fewer it appears by the month,” he said sardonically.
“That’s a bit dark even by your standards Gaston,” said Durand reproachfully.
Lafarge shrugged his shoulders.
“Well an appropriate place to make such a remark wouldn’t you say Frederic, aside from you no one will hear it,” he said.
Durand smiled thinly and carried on cutting away.
“So are you going to be permitted to be involved in the investigation?” asked Durand.
Lafarge shrugged, took a sip from his hip flask and offered it to Durand, who responded by showing him his bloody gloves. Lafarge put the hip flask to Durand’s lips and the pathologist duly drank a bit.
“For the moment I’m allowed to accompany Levau but to be there strictly as an observer. Now that I assume it is a murder enquiry, judging from your use of the word investigation, I may not even be able to perform that duty,” he said.
“That’s just as well Gaston. You get so immersed in nearly all your cases that this one especially would drain you. Also if you don’t mind me saying even with the shortage of personnel there is no excuse for having you on the case. Your temperament is never the best and I hate to think how you would react in a situation where you are on your own with the suspect,” said Durand gently.
Lafarge nodded. Reluctantly he had to admit having four murders, though he would term them political executions, to his credit he was hardly likely to be restrained when or if he discovered the identity of the person behind his father’s murder.
“Well hopefully Durand the other old bloke you have here will divert me onto another path,” he said pointing at the second corpse awaiting the delicate cutting of the pathologist.
“Indeed Gaston. By the way did I ever tell you I knew your father back during The Great War?”
Lafarge shook his head.
“Yes, I served in one of the regiments that mutinied. It was totally understandable. The troops had had enough of these blasted peacock generals issuing demands and orders that were totally unrealistic.
“Typical of the type that paid a cursory visit to the trenches looked through the periscope and said yes that is achievable while blithely disregarding the barbed wire, the pock-marked terrain and the acres of space between us and the enemy trenches,” said Durand his voice taking on a wistful and bitter tone as he recalled the horrors.
“They weren’t cowards these soldiers,
they were for me lions. However, every man has his limits, and ever more so when you are exhausted, dirty and lacking in belief in the commanding officer. I was the medical officer, but more often than not even if I advised that a soldier wasn’t fit for duty it was often disregarded.
“I had the feeling sometimes that I was caught in a vicious circle. The more unfit I said a soldier was the more likely he would be sent back into the line. So in the end I too gave up, my own little version of a mutiny. I told the colonel who was commanding our frontline regiment that I wasn’t prepared to treat the soldiers anymore because it was a waste of my time and theirs.”
Lafarge, who was impressed at how Durand was able to talk so lucidly and perform his duties at the same time, thought that sounded typical of the stories older friends who had fought in the war had told him. Indeed sadly it wasn’t too different from the actions of the senior officers in the debacle of 1940. Although this time there had been no question of charging the enemy, it had all been about chaos in retreat and not an officer of senior rank to be seen.
“So what happened to you? Were you court martialed? Sent to a mental asylum?” asked Lafarge, the latter question half in jest.
Durand looked up at him, a sad expression on his face.
“No I was spared those joys. However, that is how I met your father. I was compelled to attend to the poor souls who were court martialed and condemned to death. Your father being Petain’s ADC was the officer I had to report to,” said Durand.
“Why did you need to see him? Surely their medical situation wasn’t of great importance as they were not going to need a doctor where they were going,” said Lafarge.
“Granted that was the case, but everything had to be done according to regulations. They might have been liberal in their interpretation of my diagnoses of the men and their fitness for action but once they had condemned them to death everything had to be done to the letter of the law,” said Durand sarcastically.