The Haunted Detective

by Pirate Irwin

  He was approaching Bastille and still had the feeling there was somebody tracking him. He decided to duck into a café, he needed warming up in any case and another cognac would do that nicely.

  The café was called L’Apostrophe, not something he used very often in his reports which was remarked upon by his colleagues with much hilarity, and like lots of cafes cut back on its bills by only illuminating half its lights.

  He decided to stand at the bar, it was cheaper to start with and it gave him a good vantage point to observe the people who came in and perhaps pin down who it was that was following him. That is if there really was anyone following him.

  There was no problem finding space at the zinc bar, there were few customers either standing or sitting for that matter. He ordered a cognac from the gruff looking barman with a dirty white shirt and his apron was worse, covered in food and drink stains. He hoped the glass was markedly cleaner than the server, and to his relief it was and came generously filled too.

  He glanced at the clock which surprisingly was in working order and saw it was nearly eight o’clock. He thought I should be home by half eight.

  Perhaps entice Aimee out for a traditional heavy dinner at the Girauds and retire to bed at a relatively early hour for him, as he would need all his energy the next day to research the de Granville family. He would also have to be prepared to drop in at Frenay’s ministry at a moment’s notice to talk about the Charlemagne Division.

  “Chief Inspector, I’m glad I caught up with you,” a voice piped up from behind Lafarge.

  Lafarge thought so much for being able to survey everybody who came in, fortunately the voice was friendly. Otherwise he might be dead or wounded and have the barman trying to stem his wound with his dirty apron which would probably kill him too.

  Trying to dismiss that appalling scenario he wheeled round and saw it was Vaillant.

  He smiled and shook his hand and asked him what he would like to drink, he replied the same as Lafarge.

  The barman’s face creased into a smile when Lafarge asked for two more cognacs, the Chief Inspector wished he hadn’t smiled as it revealed chipped and tobacco stained teeth, those that remained as he was missing several molars.

  Vaillant looked tired, Lafarge was delighted someone else was as drained as him, and was even thinner than when he had first met him. He had always thought prison governors ate better than their prisoners but it was evidently not the case with Vaillant.

  “So what can I do for you Monsieur Vaillant?” asked Lafarge once they had their glasses before them and in a fit of generosity offered the barman a drink which he happily accepted and sadly didn’t spare them his smile.

  “You can call me Daniel, Chief Inspector,” said Vaillant as he slid an envelope along the bar surface.

  Lafarge took the envelope and saw it was hand written and addressed to his father. It was unopened.

  “It arrived after your father had died, and I thought you should have it both professionally and being his son. I have no idea whether it will be of help to you,” said Vaillant.

  “I waited for you outside the Quai as I preferred to hand it to you outside of your office in case it has nothing to do with the investigation. However, you walk rather fast for me, fortunately you stopped for some refreshment!” added Vaillant.

  Lafarge thanked him and was relieved it had been him following him. It took a load off his mind.

  He looked at the envelope and didn’t recognise the writing, but then he didn’t know an awful lot of his fathers’ friends and those he did not well enough to be au fait with their hand writing.

  He tore open the envelope, there was no point being delicate about it as there were no fingerprints to be taken from it having passed through so many hands.

  The writing in rich blue ink was spidery but legible. It was just two pages and the address of the sender was one in Neuilly, a smart Parisian suburb.

  He read on.

  “Dear Colonel Lafarge,

  I am sorry to read that you who have served France so well and selflessly during your career find yourself in such dire circumstances. You remained loyal to the end to your friend and mentor Marshal Petain and that is to be respected, even if the policies were misguided the principle of saving France from a second slaughter of its youth only 20 years after the end of the previous conflagration are to be commended.

  “It is ironic that I have written to you twice in my life, and both times I have communicated to you was on the occasion of a World War. The previous time I wrote to you one of the most painful matters I have had to write, to deny my son a chance of life. In time I have come to realise what an appalling decision I took, some would say what possessed you to condemn your son in the first place and they would be correct.

  “Greed pure greed I admit willingly now. However, in the end I look back and I can see I lost far more than I gained for yes I am rich in money and possessions, but I have no son and I have lost my grandson as a result.

  “I know this will come as no solace to you, now that your own life is at stake, although I think the court will be a fairer one than that of over 20 years ago, but I write to say that you were correct to try and convince me to change my mind. The manner in which you spoke so eloquently and warmly of your sons, especially the one called Gaston, and how fortunate you were to not have had to see them go to war because of their age and that you would God willing return to see them at the end of the conflict only touched me when it was too late.

  “Thus I know that I cannot set things right with my son but I can in a small way try and rectify things in your regard and I would like to pay for your defence. It will give me pleasure to help you in your hour of greatest need like you thought you were doing all those years ago and I turned my back on you.

  I remain at your disposition should you require it and wish to take me up on my offer.

  Yours sincerely

  Gerard de Granville.

  Lafarge gasped audibly after finishing reading the letter, and was relieved to see that he was alone. Vaillant had downed his drink and left, though, not before ordering him another glass.

  The letter’s revelations had touched him. His father had hidden it well in his final days, indeed during the majority of his time as part of the Vichy administration, but he had always been more attentive towards him than his brothers and sister.

  His father had loved him. His claims to de Granville had been made genuinely not as an emotional appeal because the colonel was never one for that sort of dramatics. Sadly de Granville had not read them in the right way and he had allowed cold business decisions to colour his judgment. Well his money would not be required but he probably knew by now.

  At least he de Granville would be able to meet the Gaston Colonel Lafarge used in vain as an example of filial love all those years ago, and while it was unlikely to help the old man’s attempt at some form of redemption or making peace with himself, it would certainly aid Lafarge’s investigation.

  As his investigation involved his father’s murder he imagined de Granville would be only too happy to be of help.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Gaston, you haven’t brought Pierre with you? Is he not feeling well enough to attend his grandfather’s funeral?” Antoinette asked Lafarge on his arrival at the apartment on the morning of the funeral.

  Lafarge embraced Antoinette and shook Lucien’s hand, both of them already dressed. His step-mother in a simple black knee-length dress, beside where she sat was her hat, a black and silver mini top hat with a black veil. Even Rochedebois had found the right clothes to suit the occasion, a well cut dark navy suit, white shirt and black tie, and he’d even had his hair cut.

  “No, I discussed it with his doctor and we both agreed that Pierre wasn’t quite ready to come out,” said Lafarge.

  Antoinette looked disappointed and all but tut-tutted, which Lafarge thought was rich as she hadn’t even found it within herself to visit his father in Fresnes, whilst Rochedebois sensing his mother’s
displeasure contented himself by staring down at his feet.

  Lafarge pretended he hadn’t noticed and went to the drinks cabinet, which he remarked was new, a fine dark chestnut two door piece with splayed gold-tinted feet. He fixed them all drinks, despite the early hour it being just past 10 and the funeral set for midday at Pere Lachaise.

  The cemetery being so close to where he lived he could have either asked them round to the flat or simply met them there but neither appealed to him.

  “Well I hope Pierre will recover soon,” said Antoinette recovering her good humour.

  “Your father adored him Gaston, he used to take time away from Vichy to visit them as often as possible in Nice as you were occupied in Paris,” she added whilst bringing a kerchief to her eyes to dab at them.

  “I know Isabella really appreciated those visits,” said Lafarge cradling his drink.

  “You didn’t accompany him though.”

  Antoinette looked taken aback by the sharpness of Lafarge’s remark.

  “I think you know that I wasn’t very well at the time Gaston. By the time I was strong enough you had decided to leave for Spain so I never got to say goodbye to my granddaughter nor Isabella,” she replied tartly.

  Her barb struck Lafarge, but again unlike him he was content to let it go.

  “So Lucien any news on your job with Boussac?” he said judiciously switching the subject away from family matters which were not a topic suitable for discussion on the day of the funeral.

  Rochedebois nodded and a big grin spread over his amiable features.

  “Yes, he honoured his promise and I’m to begin as soon as possible. It is a great relief,” he said.

  “I would imagine. So is he a generous payer, enough for you to get your own apartment?” asked Lafarge.

  “Yes so long as I restrain my gambling costs,” said Rochedebois laughing.

  Antoinette cleared her throat interrupting them.

  “Well I’ve told Lucien he can stay here for as long as he wishes. It saves him money and this place is too big just for me. He can come and go as he likes, he has his own set of keys and all I’ve asked of him is that he ensures any lady who comes back here with him is gone by the time I take my breakfast,” she said.

  “That is a nice arrangement for the both of you,” said Lafarge glancing behind him to look at the clock and noted it was nearing 11.

  It shouldn’t be too long now he thought to himself.

  “What about you Gaston? Are you going to stay in the police? Now you have caught the man responsible for Pierre’s murder surely you could do with a rest and time to reflect on what you want to do?” asked Antoinette.

  Lafarge smiled and nodded.

  “Yes that is a good idea Antoinette and I have been giving it some serious thought,” said Lafarge.

  “There are better things to be doing with one’s life than constantly staring at corpses and dealing with usually the lowest form of humanity. It is draining, but the big question is what else can I do?

  “I haven’t done anything else, apart from a brief inglorious stint in the Army, and I am rather good at it! I don’t know if that is a comment on my skepticism of human nature or just simply I’m very good at sniffing out the criminal.”

  Antoinette smiled sympathetically, and turned to Rochedebois to ask him to get her another drink.

  “I can always see with Boussac whether he requires someone with your talents Gaston,” said Rochedebois.

  “He must need body guards or a head of security, minding the shop so to speak from his rivals who are constantly, so he tells me, conducting industrial espionage against him.

  “Think of it Gaston we could be reunited as a team again, just like we were at the POW camp,” added Rochedebois beaming at Lafarge before making his way over to the cabinet.

  “Yes that sounds interesting Lucien. However, probably best for you to settle into your job first before trying to help me out,” said Lafarge.

  Their discourse was interrupted as the doorbell rang. Antoinette looked at her watch.

  “That’s odd unless my watch has stopped, which looking at the clock isn’t the case, the driver is a bit early to tell us to come down,” said Antoinette.

  “The traffic these days is hardly a problem, and long may it stay that way. Gaston would you go and tell him we’ll be down in 25 minutes, the maid won’t know what to say,” added Antoinette.

  Lafarge nodded and left the room, intercepting the maid on her way to the door and telling her politely he would deal with it.

  He opened the door into the drawing room and walked in leaving the door ajar.

  Antoinette looked up at Lafarge and then behind him.

  “Gaston would you mind shutting the door?” she said admonishing him for his loss of manners.

  Lafarge turned and made a waving motion with his hand.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said turning back to Antoinette and Rochedebois.

  “I asked one of the mourners to join us early. As Pierre won’t be taking up space in the car it leaves one spare.”

  Antoinette looked extremely surprised and a little angry at not having been consulted about someone coming to her apartment on such a day as this. Rochedebois went over to his mother seeing that she was getting exercised about this intrusion, and patted her on the shoulder.

  As he was doing this an elderly well-dressed man walked in.

  Antoinette rather than being comforted by Rochedebois’ gesture began shrieking at seeing the old man. Her son looked completely lost as to why.

  The man mouthed yes to Lafarge prompting Rochedebois to ask angrily what the hell was going on.

  “Your mother does not need introducing to our guest, but Lucien may I present your grandfather to you Monsieur Gerard de Granville,” said Lafarge.

  Lucien looked at Lafarge and then at his mother seeking confirmation.

  Antoinette was barely capable of responding, so Rochedebois took to shaking her. Lafarge stepped in and ordered him to go and sit down, whilst gently telling de Granville to take the chair he had been sitting in.

  Lafarge took up a position standing between the door and both Antoinette and Rochedebois.

  “Lucien I can assure you this is the truth. M de Granville will confirm it, though, you are not stupid and you must know judging your mother’s reaction it is the case,” said Lafarge.

  Rochedebois appeared calm, although he looked totally confused, and spread his arms wide inviting the old man to speak.

  De Granville looked nervous. His hands were trembling, especially the one holding his gold-topped cane, but after swallowing deeply he managed to find his voice.

  “Lucien you and I have not set eyes on each other since early 1918 when you were just a child,” said De Granville looking straight at Rochedebois.

  “I am not going to enter into any great detail for your mother must have related the story to you about your father’s death.

  “Suffice to say that despite my entreaties your mother thought it best to cut all ties with me, perhaps because to see me every day would have been a permanent reminder of the loss she had suffered.

  “I think too that she held me responsible for not having done enough to save your father. I will come to that in a minute.

  “Thanks to the Chief Inspector I now know why she severed all links. It was a quite brilliant plan that she devised, of course based hugely on her great beauty and charm. However, it would have been impossible if she had retained her married name and also remained close to me.

  “Antoinette you must have been deeply deeply in love with my son and it further breaks my heart to see what the consequences have been and that they will go further.

  “It is not my job to go into the criminal acts. That is for Chief Inspector Lafarge to deal with, but Lucien your mother has orchestrated this sequence of events almost from the day your father was executed.

  “Antoinette I congratulate you on your magnificent seduction of Colonel Lafarge and for your patience i
n waiting so long to put your plan into action,” added de Granville, pausing to take a sip from a glass of water.

  He allowed some of it to wet the bottom of his distinguished grey mustache, so he withdrew a handkerchief from his suit pocket and mopped up the surfeit liquid.

  Rochedebois took advantage of this break in his account.

  “This is all very interesting, but frankly I don’t see why you should come here, uninvited by the owner of this apartment, and preach moral values to us, accusing my mother of using my father’s death to marry another man, who served his country better than my father did,” said Rochedebois icily.

  De Granville looked hurt and angry by this observation, but Lafarge intervened.

  “Lucien don’t try and play smoke and mirrors with your grandfather’s words,” said Lafarge sternly.

  “It is admirable of you as always to leap to your mother’s defence and defend her honour, but then your fortunes are inextricably linked.

  “As for Monsieur de Granville not having been invited by the owner of this apartment, well in a sense that is true as Antoinette paid for it but with my father’s passing my siblings and I become the rightful half owners of the property.

  “So I had every right to invite your grandfather, and rather than dissemble what he is saying, for which there is no point in you doing so as you will not change my mind as to their meaning, you will listen keenly to the rest of what he has to say.”

  Rochedebois’ features clouded over, the usual sunny disposition had been swept aside replaced by a look of fury but mixed still with an air of confidence. Lafarge thought it reeked of arrogance.

  Lucien made to get up and fix himself a drink but Lafarge told him to sit down. He looked even more furious.

  “I’m not a little boy to be ordered around Gaston! I will have a drink if I feel like it,” he said sullenly.

  “Sorry I would advise against that Lucien. You are going to need to be clear-headed in the coming hours,” said Lafarge, who took great joy from helping himself to a cognac.